


When I come home, you'll be there

by meverri



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Lung Cancer, Medical Debt, Minor Character Death, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Police Brutality, Surveillance, spoilers for 3.14
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:08:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25448140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meverri/pseuds/meverri
Summary: Peter leaves to repay his debts and is captured by Dark Matters. Will the crew of the Carte Blanche be able to save him? Will they be able to forgive him at all?
Relationships: Background Buddy Aurinko/Vespa, Peter Nureyev & Jet Sikuliaq, Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel, Rita & Juno Steel
Comments: 36
Kudos: 68





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Perfumed Hair by Chris Trapper
> 
> FORGOT TO ADD THIS WHEN I FIRST POSTED IT BUT props to Ames ([anamnesisUnending](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anamnesisUnending/pseuds/anamnesisUnending) on here, @[vespailkay](https://vespailkay.tumblr.com/) on tumblr) for the idea of Peter running into DM and thanks for letting me make it angsty
> 
> Ok, for the first time in a million years I'm posting a WIP without getting through the first draft. We'll see how this goes. I hope you all enjoy it!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @[hundred-separate-lines](https://hundred-separate-lines.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Warnings for this chapter in the end notes

When he leaves, he leaves with a kiss.

Juno stirs as Peter crawls out from under the warm covers. He’s been putting this moment off for months, and now for hours. He fought the heaviness in his eyes to watch Juno sleep, to watch the way his face relaxes in the early hours of the morning, the way his eyelashes tickle the apples of his cheeks, the way his hair moves with the light air currents let out by the ship’s ventilation system. 

“Nureyev?” he mutters, his eyes fluttering open. He frowns. “Wh’ time is it?”

“ _Shh_ , my love,” Peter says. He works hard to keep his voice steady. “Go back to sleep.”

Juno reaches one hand out and wraps it around Peter’s wrist. “ _Mm_ ,” he hums. “Love you.”

Peter’s heart, for the umpteenth time tonight, breaks.

He brushes his free hand along Juno’s cheek and rests his forehead against Juno’s. “I love you, Juno,” he says. “I’ll always love you.”

Juno smiles and closes his eyes. “Hmm,” he says. “I don’t want the salmon crunchies.”

Peter huffs out a breathy laugh. “Okay,” he says. “You don’t have to eat any.”

Juno’s hand slackens around his wrist. Peter pulls away slowly, letting Juno’s fingers linger on his skin. He feels so much colder the moment he loses contact. He tries to convince himself that this is only temporary, that he will see Juno again soon, but it doesn’t work—Peter is sure that even in the event of their reunion, Juno will never forgive him for this.

And really, that will be for the best. He will not deserve Juno’s forgiveness. Not after this.

After that, it’s a simple matter to creep down the hall and into the vault below the navigation room. Peter has perfected the art of walking in perfect silence while laden with everything he owns, though he has left most of his possessions behind this time—he cannot help but hope that Juno will, in some fit of sentimentality, keep some of them as a memory. He left his cologne in the bathroom; he has a feeling he won’t want to smell it again after tonight.

The Map, the Key, the Blade, and the Book are nestled safely in their safe when Peter arrives in the vault. He extracts them with the code that Rita came up with six weeks ago and remembers because it is the standard serial number for her favorite salmon product. He sequesters them in his satchel for safekeeping and tucks it away, folded into the shirt he wore as Duke Rose. The fabric is soft and supple. It burns him.

From there, it is a trifle to creep through the halls of the ship and into the garage. The Ruby-7 beeps excitedly when he arrives, but he shakes his head at her.

“Sorry, darling,” he says. He means to invent some story about needing an inconspicuous car for this particular mission, to lie to her as he’s lied to the others, but what comes out of his mouth is, “I can’t take you from Jet. Not where I’m going. It would be too cruel.”

She whistles a melancholic tune. Peter smiles and rests a hand on her hood.

“Don’t tell the others,” he says. “It’s for their own good. I’m… I’m sorry.”

The other car isn’t nearly as personable as the Ruby. The drive to his meeting place is silent. Peter keeps his eyes on the distant stars and his mind focused on the task at hand. 

He is no longer Peter Nureyev.

Ren Praetor leaves the car on autopilot and takes a quick nap in the backseat. It’s uncomfortably cold, and he dreams of unfamiliar shapes moving around him, of warm hands on his waist, of a place that is simultaneously disorienting and comforting. When he wakes up, he tries to forget. By the time he arrives on Desdemona, it has been nearly a full day since he left the _Carte Blanche_. 

Desdemona is a tiny Outer Rim planet, rocky and dark and very, very cold. Ren steps out of the car and shrugs on a fashionable ski jacket, then parks himself on the hood of the car and plays absently with his burner comms until Dominic arrives.

Ren Praetor has sold to Dominic Curt three times in the past. The first two times were as Ren Praetor, and both nearly ten years ago. The third was as Rex Glass. He met with Dominic to inquire about the Lassonionic Capsule just before the Death Mask case, just as he was researching—

No. He will not think about that heist. He will not think about Rex Glass at all. Ren Praetor has never met Rex Glass, and he never will. 

“Ren!” Dominic shouts, lifting one hand. He is a good-natured man, all rounded edges and a permanent smile. His hair has been cut short since Ren last saw him, and its old silver streaks have nearly overcome his dark curls. The crows’ feet around his eyes have grown deeper, but so have the lines across his forehead. Ren is suddenly struck with the understanding that Dominic looks completely different from the man he met all those years ago, that he has changed even in the past three years. It is, to put it mildly, an unsettling realization.

“Dominic,” he says coldly. “I have your goods.”

“Oh, come now,” says Dominic in his usual booming voice. “Can’t we take a moment to enjoy each others’ company? It’s been far, far too long.”

“My apologies,” says Ren. “I have other business today. I’m afraid I can’t stay long.”

Dominic claps him on the back. “Oh, Ren,” he says. “Always too busy for your old friends. Say, you keep burning the candle at both ends and you’ll be grayer than me by forty!”

Ren peers at him over his glasses. “Have you got my money, Dominic?”

Dominic laughs, but this time, there’s something in it. Immediately, Ren’s gaze sharpens on three things.

First: Dominic is unarmed, or at least not carrying a blaster. Ren has never seen Dominic unarmed.

Second: Dominic is wearing a bulky ear cuff below those silver curls. Ren has never seen Dominic wearing jewelry.

Third: Dominic’s hands are shaking.

Ren slides off the hood of the car. “I have your goods,” he says, reaching for the driver side door. “If you’ll just allow me—”

Something cool and metal presses against the base of Ren’s skull. “Don’t move, Glass,” says a voice that has become horribly familiar over the last several months.

Rough hands come to his pockets, turning them out and sending hundreds of scraps of paper, trinkets, and knives to the ground. Something flutters to the ground, glimmering and golden. Before Agent G’s boot grinds it into the Desdemonian dust, Ren—no, _Peter_ —recognizes it: the gold sequined eye patch Juno wore to Zolatovna’s ball.

Peter shrugs off Agent G’s hands, but they are soon joined by another, slamming him up against the side of the car. He kicks at them, shoving against their grip as forcefully as he can, but they have him completely pinned.

“ _No_ ,” he grunts, but then a second pair of hands join Agent G’s. Agent G holds him against the car so tightly that he can’t turn his head, but the voice behind him is just as familiar as Agent G’s was, and much more chillingly so.

“Sedate him,” says Agent Sasha Wire. “He won’t come willingly.”

Peter struggles again, but it’s too late. He feels the pinch of a needle against his neck and begins to feel woozy, struggling to stay on his feet.

“I’m sorry,” he hears Dominic say. “I’m so sorry, Ren.”

“ _Juno_ …” Peter mutters.

From behind him, he hears Sasha make a confused noise. “What did he just say?”

But by then the rushing in his ears has grown too loud to understand anything else. He feels his knees buckle, feels Agent G wrap their arms around him and lower him gently to the ground.

“Please,” Peter says, and then everything goes dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: arrest/police violence, Nureyev is sedated against his will


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the mixup on the multichap front—this _is_ a multichapter fic, and I'm not sure why ao3 didn't want me to fix that. It should be fixed now. I'm not sure how many chapters it'll be (probably 4 or 5), but yeah. That's happening.
> 
> Also, I moved! The next few chapters should come out faster, since I am no longer moving and also I have internet. I'm excited to keep sharing this with y'all! Thanks to everyone who commented on chapter one, and if you like this chapter, I hope you'll consider leaving a comment below :)
> 
> Chapter warnings can be found in the end notes.

When Juno wakes up, he is alone.

He reaches out for Nureyev’s warmth and finds nothing but a cold pillow, which is disappointing but not surprising. He vaguely remembers Nureyev leaving in the middle of the night, though it’s blended with a terrifying dream in which Rita followed him around the ship with a large bag of salmon dusty crunchies and a bloody axe. He does his best to shake that memory from his mind and to recall what Nureyev had said as he left—had he said he was coming back?

After a moment of lingering under the warm covers, he gives up on remembering and clambers out of bed, desperate for coffee. 

In the kitchen, Jet is cooking omelettes for Vespa and Rita. Buddy sits in the corner, seemingly absorbed in some trashy romance novel. Rita is babbling at a thousand miles an hour about her newest idea for a heist. It’s mostly based on one of her favorite streams, _Interstellar Medium 11_ , and Juno’s lost within a second. The words slide past his coffee-deprived brain and turn to meaningless syllables. Juno decides to solve that problem by shuffling past Jet and grabbing his _Boss A$$ B!tch_ mug from the cabinet, then filling it with coffee and drinking that coffee as quickly as he can without burning his mouth. He is almost successful in this endeavor, though he does end up biting his tongue, which is annoying.

With this problem solved, Juno turns his focus to his other problem: The Case of the Missing Thief.

“Any of you seen Ransom?” he asks, his voice raspy. The others glance up at him in surprise; it’s rare that he speaks before his third cup of coffee. 

“No,” says Jet, the only one not to have looked up from his task. He flips the omelette he’s working on. “Would you like breakfast?”

Juno glances at the omelette. His stomach rumbles.

The thing is, Nureyev has this new habit of disappearing. Well, okay, that’s nothing new—he’s been doing that since the first time they met—but recently, he’s been disappearing from their bed in the middle of the night. Juno will wake up alone and wander the halls, searching high and low for him, only to find him curled up and snoring in some remote corner of the ship. Nureyev has explained that their time in the Outer Rim brought back some unpleasant memories, that he’s been having trouble sleeping, and that he likes to go for walks when he has bouts of insomnia. He also has the weird ability to fall asleep within seconds of sitting down, even if he’s in a seemingly-uncomfortable position. The weirdest example was the time that Juno found him upside-down on the couch, his head resting on the floor and drool dripping dangerously close to his left nostril.

So Juno isn’t necessarily worried that he hasn’t seen Nureyev yet this morning. Sometimes, Nureyev will reappear when he hears the others moving throughout the ship; other times, Juno won’t find him until mid-afternoon. He figures he might as well have breakfast while he waits. He sits beside Rita with his omelette and rests his head on top of hers while she talks, letting himself wake up slowly to the sound of her rapid-fire voice.

Something in his sleep-deprived mind is troubled. Juno reaches back in his memories for last night, when he and Nureyev had gone to bed together and then, a few hours later, gone to sleep. Something in the way Nureyev touched him reminds Juno of that first night, of the way Nureyev had touched him after the weeks of torture and near-death experiences they’d had while in Miasma’s clutches. He wished he could remember what Nureyev said to him last night when he’d clambered out of bed. It feels important. It feels—

“You okay, Mista Steel?” Rita asks.

Juno startles to attention, nearly knocking his third cup of coffee (which he doesn’t remember grabbing) aside. “Yeah,” he says, feeling unsettled. “Yeah, I’m good. I’m gonna look for Ransom.”

Vespa glances up at Juno. “Is he not sleeping again? I told him he should try those sleeping pills. He said he didn’t want anything that would keep him from waking up in an emergency, but I told him they’re just glorified Space Benadryl.”

“I’ll make him come see you,” Juno promises. “Just gotta find him first.”

He heads out into the hall and begins to run through the possible list of locations in his head. Nureyev won’t be in the med bay or anyone’s bedroom, and he almost certainly won’t be in the bathroom. That leaves the small laundry and maintenance room in the back and any of six mini maintenance hallways that weave through the shift. They’re a tight squeeze for Juno, but Nuryev’s stupid skinny ass has no problem fitting through them, and with Juno’s luck, Nureyev will be in whichever one he checks last.

He checks the laundry room first, just to be safe, and then goes through the maintenance shafts in reverse order of the way that first occurred to him, just to stick it to the universe. He spends about a minute stuck in the second one, which is the narrowest by far, and is just about to shout for Vespa to come get him when he manages to wriggle out of it. Cursing Nureyev’s name and Sarah Steel’s hips, he manages to inch backwards out of the narrow shaft. The others go much more smoothly, but at the end of it, he’s still missing one Peter Nureyev.

He heads back to the kitchen. The others have disappeared. Juno frowns.

He checks their room. It’s empty. Juno frowns again, harder.

His next stop is Buddy and Vespa’s. He knocks on the door three times in quick succession, rocking back and forth on his heels. When Buddy opens the door, she’s dressed in one of her loose floral dresses with her hair gathered in a bun on top of her head. She’s been growing more comfortable with updos lately, especially on the days when Juno is too lazy to dig out an eye patch from his laundry. Every time she puts her hair up, he catches Vespa making moony eyes at her behind her back. He tries to exercise enough self-control not to comment on it, and also not to cry. In his defense, their love story is about as sweet as it gets.

“Hey, Buddy,” he says. “I haven’t seen Ransom anywhere. Is he with you?”

Buddy frowns. “No, darling, I haven’t seen him since last night. Are you sure he’s not in your room?”

“Yeah. Shit, I guess I’ll ask Jet?”

From behind Buddy comes Vespa’s voice. “Check the garage. He’s probably mooning over the Ruby.”

Juno nods. “I’ll go look,” he says. “Let me know if you see him, I guess.”

When he gets to the garage, Rita and Jet are both there, arms akimbo, staring at the empty parking space beside the Ruby-7.

“Oh,” says Juno. “Uh, what’s going on?”

“Someone has taken the other car,” says Jet. “Were you able to find Ransom?”

“No,” says Juno. His heart, already racing, drops into his stomach. “Shit, you don’t think he has it, do you?”

Jet glances at him. “Perhaps he needed some time alone,” says Jet. “I often find that a drive will clear my head. Did he leave a note?”

Juno shakes his head. “Not that I saw,” he says. He tries his best to keep his breathing even, but he can feel the panic creeping up his spine, crawling into his lungs and sticking its needles behind his eyes. “He got up in the middle of the night,” he explains. “I thought he was just going for a walk. What if he was tired? What if he crashed? What if—”

Rita wraps a gentle hand around Juno’s wrist, simultaneously grounding him and feeling for a pulse. “Breathe, Boss,” she says. “We’re gonna find him. It’s all gonna be okay.”

“There is a tracker in the other car,” says Jet. “Rita will trace it. I advise that you check your room one more time for a note. I will check with Ruby and see if she saw him leave.”

The Ruby-7 whistles dejectedly. Juno steps closer to Rita, clinging to her warmth like a lifeline. “Yeah,” he says. “I’ll check my room.”

He walks back to his room as quickly as he can, trying to calm his racing heart with deep breaths and his own reassurances. _Nureyev’s fine,_ he tells himself. _He can take care of himself. He knows what he’s doing. He probably just went for a drive._

There isn’t a note on the dresser. Juno glances around at their room, strewn with last night’s discarded clothes and a hundred little accessories on every surface. Juno glances at their open closet and sweeps his eye over the shirts and dresses hanging there, nestled between each other in no particular order, evidence of a life lived intertwined with another’s. The floor is empty, though, which strikes Juno’s mind as wrong until he realizes what’s missing.

Nureyev’s suitcase is gone.

“Shit,” Juno says, bolting to his feet. He runs to the closet and paws through their clothes, searching for Nureyev’s jacket. It’s still there, but when Juno digs his hands through the pockets, they’re nearly empty, save for a few doodles.

“Shit,” he says again, and then, because that doesn’t feel strong enough, “Fuck. Nureyev, what the hell are you doing?”

He glances back at the dresser and looks at it more closely. Nureyev’s cologne still sits there in its permanent spot, but several of his favorite rings and necklaces are missing, as is his favorite shade of lipstick—and also, incidentally, Juno’s. He rips through drawers in search of Nureyev’s shirts, most of which are still there, but there are several notable exceptions, including his favorite shawl, several of his favorite button-ups, and the shirt he wore on the Utgard Express case.

He stumbles back from the dresser and falls back against the bed, bracing himself with his arms to keep from completely falling over. He tries to think, but his mind is too busy cycling through the same words, over and over and over.

_He’s gone._

“Rita!” he barks, too alarmed to do anything other than shout. It must work, because a second later, Rita and Buddy are standing in the doorway, both of them looking terrified.

“What’s wrong?” Buddy asks. “Juno, are you hurt?”

Juno shakes his head. “He’s gone. He left.”

Rita frowns. “Nuh-uh, boss. That don’t sound like him. He’s not the type of guy who would leave without lettin’ you know he was leaving. He loves you.”

“No, Rita, he’s gone. His suitcase is gone, and his shirts, and he took his lipstick, and you said the other car is missing, and none of us have seen him, and he said something to me last night but I can’t _remember—_ ”

“Hey, boss,” says Rita. She sets her hands firmly on Juno’s shoulders. “Take a deep breath. We’re gonna figure this out, okay?”

Juno does his best to match Rita’s breaths while Buddy rushes away, likely to ask Jet and Vespa if they have any updates. He’s all right at it, considering the circumstances and his general expertise in having panic attacks. Then again, Rita’s an expert in helping people _through_ panic attacks, so maybe this isn’t so much of a surprise.

When Juno hears shouts coming from down the hall, though, it’s almost enough to send him back down a spiral.

“That bastard took _everything!_ ” Vespa shouts. “I told you we should’ve gotten rid of him when we had the chance, Bud. We’re never gonna get the Curemother Prime now, and he’s probably sold us out to Dark Matters. _Fuck!_ ”

“Vespa, _enough._ Our primary concern is making sure Pete’s safe. After that, we determine what else to do.”

“I agree with Vespa,” Jet says. “I have never trusted Peter Ransom. We must go after him and retrieve the Map, the Key, the Blade, and the Book before they leave his possession.”

Juno stands. “No,” he says, his voice weak. “No, they _can’t—_ ”

“Hang on a sec, boss,” Rita says. “You gotta take a second before you talk to them, okay? Just breathe.”

“But they’re saying he betrayed us,” Juno protests. “They’re wrong. He _wouldn’t._ ”

“Okay, Mista Steel, I believe you. I just don’t know if Captain A and Miss Vespa are gonna listen right now, so you gotta wait, okay?”

Juno fights his way past her and out into the hallway, where Buddy is busy trying to fend off Vespa and Jet’s anger. Juno marches right out into the middle of it because he may be growing but damn it if he isn’t still Juno Steel, and if he’s going to start a fight for anything, it’s going to be defending his errant boyfriend who may or may not have run off with a year’s worth of stolen goods.

“Hey,” he says. “Before we start accusing Ransom of treason, can we try and figure out where the hell he is?”

The others turn to look at him. “Darling,” says Buddy, her tone hesitant, “did you find a note?”

Juno’s cheeks burn. “No,” he says. “He’s gone. But I don’t think we can just _assume—_ ”

Vespa scoffs. “I told you, Bud. He’s no good.”

“Just lay off, okay?” Juno pleads. He can hear a desperate thread in his voice, can feel his own need for Nureyev to still be here, but it’s pointless. Nureyev’s gone. There’s no one left to defend.

“Can you all just stop?” Rita asks. 

The others turn to look at her. She stands with her arms on her hips, fixing each of them with an angry glare. Juno, who is used to her glare, is less cowed than the others, but it’s still intimidating enough to make him shut up.

“We ain’t got time to figure out what Mista Ransom’s doing. All we know is he ain’t here, and if we don’t find him, we’re never gonna get that Curemother. That means we gotta find him! Also, if you would all please stop yelling at Mista Steel, that would be great.” She shoots Juno a comforting glance. “He’s had a real long morning, and it ain’t his fault if Mista Ransom’s doing something stupid.”

Vespa crosses her arms over her chest. “And if he betrayed us?”

“We’ll worry about that later, darling,” Buddy says. “Rita’s right. Every moment we waste bickering is another moment lost. No matter what happened, our first step is finding Peter. Rita, dear, would you be so kind as to track the other car?”

“I’m already on it, Captain A,” says Rita. She taps her comms and projects its display out for the rest of them. “I’m gettin’ a ping off a little planet a couple hours from here. I don’t know the name, though.”

“Let me see,” Vespa grumbles. She shoulders her way past Buddy and Jet to squint at the comms. After a moment, she straightens.

“That’s Desdemona,” she says. “There’s not gonna be surveillance out there. It’s uninhabited. People use it for trade, sometimes. Thin atmosphere, but enough oxygen for a few minutes at the surface—more, if you’ve got a mask. Cold as hell. I’ve only been there once.”

“And the car’s still there?” Juno asks.

Rita nods. “It’s been there for almost four hours. It landed, got turned off, and it’s just been sittin’ there since.”

“It’s too cold to sit in the car there without heat,” says Vespa. “He isn’t in that car anymore.”

“Any nearby vehicles?” Juno asks.

Rita taps at her comms. After a moment, a video feed pops up, showing a rocky void. “This is the dashcam,” she says. Another video feed pops up, also showing a rocky void. “That’s the rear view.” Another click, and another angle. “And this is a 360 degree view from the top of the car. Looks like there’s nobody else there.”

“So he had a getaway vehicle ready,” says Vespa. “Probably had a partner. Maybe more than one. Hell, he could have been working for Dark Matters this whole time. It’d explain why they’ve been on our asses from the beginning.”

Juno shakes his head. “He doesn’t like working with others.”

Vespa snorts. “He worked with us, didn’t he?”

“You don’t understand,” says Juno. “If there was someone waiting for him when he got there, he was either selling or he was forced to be there. He wouldn’t have run away just to go join someone else. Rita, is there any way to make the picture bigger?”

Rita nods and blows up the screen until it fills the narrow hallway, surrounding them in a lightly-glowing ring. Juno squints at it, willing himself to find something, anything that will make this whole thing make sense. It isn’t until Rita begins zooming in on parts of the image that Juno sees it.

“Wait!” he shouts. “Wait, go back. Yeah, right… there. Yes. Okay. Do you see that?”

The others lean closer. Buddy shakes her head. “Explain it to us, darling.”

Juno points. “It’s hard to see, but those look like tracks from a body being dragged through the dust.”

Vespa frown. “Shit,” she says. “You’re right. Hey, Rita, aim that camera down a bit.”

Rita does. Juno and Vespa lean closer to the screen.

“Sign of a struggle,” Vespa says.

“Three… no, four sets of footprints,” says Juno. “And two other cars. And… hang on, what is that?”

Juno squints at a small shadow on the ground. At first glance, it looks like a strip of fabric. When Rita zooms in, though, Juno’s heart stops: it’s a golden eye patch, the same as the one he wore at Zolatovna’s ball, lying in the Desdemonian dust.

“Rita,” he says, his voice hoarse, “does the other car store old footage?”

Rita nods. “For six hours,” she says. She fiddles with the comms until the screen turns to static, then presses something again. When she’s finished, the screen bursts back to life, this time displaying the empty void of space.

The video speeds up. Juno doesn’t have the heart to ask if there’s footage of the car’s interior, and luckily for him, neither does anyone else. He watches as the car approaches Desdemona, its rocky face blowing up in size until it fills the frame. It draws close to another car, this one with a man standing beside it. The car comes to a stop, and the man beams at its driver. 

Peter Nureyev enters the frame wearing a ridiculously huge ski jacket and a pair of furry pants. His face is stone as he greets Dominic, whose large smile falters as he takes the items off Nureyev. Juno sees the moment that Nureyev stiffens, almost imperceptibly, and retreats towards the car.

Because they have 360 degrees of video feed, they are able to see what Peter did not: two Dark matters agents emerging from thin air— _A cloaked car? Juno thinks. What is this, one of Rita’s sci-fi streams?_ —and pinning him to the driver’s side door.

The struggle is over quickly. The first agent, whom Juno quickly recognizes as Agent G, wrestles with Peter until the second, whose face is obscured by a dark mask, pins him against the vehicle and Agent G is able to sedate him. When Peter slumps forward, they catch him, and their mask slips. Rita gasps.

“Shit,” Juno says. The two agents onscreen begin to drag Peter towards the space where they emerged. The other man scrambles back to his own car and drives away like his life depends on it.

“Dark Matters,” Buddy says. “They’ve taken everything. I knew they were on our trail, but I didn’t think they were so close.”

“That’s not just Dark Matters,” says Juno darkly. “That’s Sasha Wire. She’s the second-highest ranking person there.”

“I can’t believe she would do that,” says Rita. “After all that help you gave her on the Kanagaway case, and after all you did to try and find Annie—”

“We know where he is now,” says Jet. “We should direct our discussion toward retrieving him.”

Buddy nods. “We’ll leave right away. Jet, prepare the Ruby. Vespa, dear, gather whatever medical supplies you think you’ll need. Juno, Rita, I’ll need those Dark Matters uniforms from the closet, as well as those official-looking blasters from the armory. We’ll meet in the garage in ten minutes. Go.”

The others scramble. Juno gives himself five seconds to worry that everything will go wrong, to obsess on the idea that Nureyev has gone where Juno can’t follow him, or, worse, where he doesn’t want Juno to follow him. The image of the eye patch on the ground burns in his mind, bright and golden and painful. He lets it pass through his mind and settle in his stomach, forcing the feeling to transform from cold dread to solid determination. After five seconds, he sets his shoulders and gets ready to follow Rita to the closet. 

Before he can, a gentle hand falls on his shoulder. Juno turns, and Buddy is standing there, her eyes full of concern.

“We’ll find him,” she says. Juno notes that her grip is loose enough to escape easily, but still a comforting weight on his shoulder. He nods.

“I know,” he says.

“All right,” says Buddy. “Then let’s go get him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Juno has a panic attack. There's a description of the struggle from the previous chapter, though it is less graphic.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to accidentally double the length of the story with one chapter lmaooo
> 
> Credit for Peter's alias here (and for half of another one) goes to Rab ([Pholo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pholo/pseuds/Pholo/works?fandom_id=11552962) on ao3, [jitterbug-juno](https://jitterbug-juno.tumblr.com/) on tumblr). Thanks so much for helping me not name him George Foreman.
> 
> Chapter warnings (and also, a short note on the reason why I depict transition-related surgery and its finance the way i do in this chapter) can be found in the end notes.

Nureyev wakes in an empty cell, laying on a cold stone floor.

He takes a moment to take stock. His ski jacket is gone, and with it many of his weapons. He cannot feel the knives he keeps hidden along his left side, which is currently laying on the ground, so he decides to proceed as though he is unarmed. His glasses are missing. He suspects he has no lasting injuries, but then, he hasn’t dared to move yet. 

He casts around in his mind for a moment, searching for his alias, and comes up with Ren Praetor. Another minute and he’s remembered where he is, though it isn’t a comforting memory.

Dark Matters.

Peter struggles to keep his breathing even. _There are cameras on the car,_ he thinks. _The others will have noticed by now._ He quietly thanks the universe that he never made it to Pluto, where he would have abandoned the car for an interplanetary shuttle. At least this way, the others will be able to track him.

_They won’t be looking for you,_ his mind whispers. _Not after what you’ve done._

Peter tries to reassure himself that they will go looking for the items he stole, but it is a thin comfort indeed. 

With his initial panic fading, Nureyev decides to sit up. He won’t have any more of an advantage over his captors by lying in wait—at least, that’s what he tells himself, rather than admitting that the terror of waiting was growing unbearable. He takes note of each bruise and cut as he moves and decides that, if he’s given the chance, he’ll be able to run, though he doesn’t think he’ll make it far.

As he sits, he looks around the cell. It’s barely wide enough to lay down in, and appears to have no entrance. Peter spends a moment examining each wall for hidden seams before giving up and making his way gingerly to his feet.

“Hello?” he asks. “If you’d like to speak with me, we may as well get it out of the way.”

The only response is silence. Peter’s voice echoes around the room and fades, and then he is alone again. 

He presses his fingers against each wall. Each is just as cool as the floor, smooth slate under his fingertips. He paces around the room, tracing the walls until his fingers are numb, then does the same thing in the other direction. By the time he’s done, it’s been less than twenty minutes.

Peter huffs. “Really,” he says. “This is getting very boring.”

He paces the room again, and then again in the other direction. By now, his heart rate has begun to climb. 

“Terrible accommodations,” he scoffs. “I’ll be calling your managers.”

He spends hours pacing the room, waiting for something, _anything,_ to happen. By the time the wall slides open behind him, it’s almost a relief to see Agent G’s face, even if they don’t look very welcoming.

“Sit down, Glass,” they say, unfolding a plastic chair and setting it down in the middle of the floor. “We have a lot to discuss.”

  


* * *

  


_Peter fled._

_The image of Mag staggering forward after the knife had left his body replayed itself over and over in his mind. There was still blood on his sleeve. Mag had dropped to one knee, and so had Peter, his hands going to Mag’s shoulders. There had been so much blood. There was still so much blood._

_He dyed his hair in a shuttle station bathroom with the cheapest dye he could find. It was bright red. He hated it. He bought a tourist tee shirt and a pair of cargo shorts and slipped them on in a stall while waiting for the shuttle off of Brahma, avoiding every camera lens he saw with a kind of fear he had never felt before. He passed countless Wanted posters, each plastered with his face, his name, and the words “25 MILLION CRED REWARD.” He kept to the shadows after that._

_He shoved his bloody shirt into a trash can. Mag staggered, dropped to his knees. Peter closed his eyes, shook his head, and kept moving._

_The cheapest ticket went to Vishnu. He took it. He hid for three days in a motel, then took another ticket to a nearby system. He bounced from planet to planet until he ran out of money, finally settling on the planet Cesario._

_He spent a month picking pockets before being stabbed by a vigilant tourist. He stitched himself up in a back alley and tried not to shake when he saw blood on his hands. After the second close call, this time with a police officer, he vowed to give up his life of crime forever._

_Peter spent the next several days answering any ad in the daily news bulletin looking for labor. Most turned him down when they realized he had no formal papers; the rest turned him down when they realized he had no formal work experience. Desperate for money and food and human companionship, Peter wandered into Elwood Grocers three months after Mag’s death._

_The owner, Frank Elwood, was a kind old man who was willing to pay Peter--who assumed the name Wesley Starling--under the table to man the counter and restock shelves. It wasn’t a high-paying job, but Frank looked the other way when Nureyev slept in the storeroom at night, and he was fair-haired and fat where Mag had been dark-haired and thin, so it was almost easy to ignore the familiar warmth in his chest when Frank would pay for his hormones or sneak him honey buns from the bakery next door._

_It didn’t feel like home, but it felt like a place to rest, and that was good enough for Peter._

  


* * *

  


“Rex Glass. Perseus Shah. Ren Praetor. Conde Bell. Ilya Dvoryanstvo.” Agent G crosses their arms. “Wesley Starling.”

“I see you’ve done your research,” Peter says drily. “Is there a point to this?”

“That’s just a small sample of your aliases, isn’t it?” they ask. “We’ve been watching you for some time.”

“Yes, I’m sure you have.”

“So you knew we were after you.”

“Of course,” Peter says. “Surely some news of my crimes would have reached Dark Matters by now. I suppose it couldn’t be helped. Infamy is part of the job, and I’m very, very good at my job.”

“Not so good you weren’t caught,” Agent G says.

Peter shrugs. “I’ve been caught before,” he says. “I’ll be caught again.”

Agent G pulls a file from a small slot that opens on the wall. “We’ll see about that,” they say. “It’s rare that we let someone escape from Dark Matters once. We never let them escape twice.”

“Is that so?”

Agent G nods. “This is the end for you, thief,” they say. “I only hope it was all worth it.”

“I assure you,” says Peter quietly, “it was.”

  


* * *

  


_Almost a year passed. Peter spent his days stocking grocery shelves and learning the local language, an old solar variant called English. He did his best to suppress his Brahman accent. He did his best to fit in._

_One day, while he was busy unloading a box of snacks, he heard Frank cry out from the front of the shop. His mind raced with horrible scenarios—Had Frank fallen? Was someone robbing the store? Were the authorities there for him at last?—and he sprinted to the front counter, his hand hovering over the blade at his hip._

_As it happened, the fear was unnecessary. Peter rounded one of the aisles to find Frank embracing a man who was nearly a foot taller than Frank, though he was still several inches shorter than Peter. He had Frank’s fair hair and bulky frame. He looked strong, especially in his tight-fitting tee shirt, and when he pulled away from the hug to glance at Peter, he did so with kind eyes._

_“Wes!” Frank cried. “This is my nephew, Sam. He’s finally home from the war, thank the gods.”_

_Sam smiled shyly and held out a strong hand. Peter shook it with caution. It was warm and calloused—the hand of a man who had worked his whole life._

_“Nice to meet you,” said Sam. His voice was quiet. Peter liked it immediately._

_“Charmed,” said Peter. “I’m Wesley.”_

_“Sam’s going to stick around and help out,” said Frank. “He’ll be able to do the heavy lifting for you, eh, Wes?”_

_“I suppose so,” said Peter quietly. Sam laughed._

_“I like your accent,” he said. “Brahmese, right?”_

_Peter must have startled, because the smile vanished from Sam’s face, replaced with a look of concern. “It’s all right,” he said. “I’ve been there. I’ve seen it. I know why someone would want to leave. I’m not going to… I don’t know, turn you in or something.”_

_It wasn’t enough to stop Peter’s heart from thudding halfway out of his chest, but Sam seemed to mean what he said. Peter just nodded and gestured back towards the shelves._

_“I’ll get back to work,” he said. “It was very nice to meet you.”_

_“Nice meeting you, too,” said Sam. “I’m sure we’ll be very good friends.”_

  


* * *

  


“You normally work alone,” Agent G asks. “What changed?”

Peter shrugs. “I’ve taken jobs with all sorts,” he says. “Sometimes it’s easier with a partner.”

“Buddy Aurinko’s a big name,” they say, “especially for a thief without one of his own.”

“I don’t like to think of it that way,” says Peter. “I have many names. Some are bigger than others. Being invited to work with the great Buddy Aurinko was an honor, but certainly not an unexpected one.”

“So you knew she would be going back into crime?”

“No,” says Peter, “but I was excited to hear that she was. Why are you asking me this?”

“Just trying to establish some facts,” says Agent G. “Besides you and Aurinko, there were four others on the crew. Who were they?”

“Other nameless criminals,” Peter says, keeping his voice light. “No one important.”

“Besides the Unnatural Disaster.”

Peter shrugs. “One important person.”

“We know that Aurinko’s travelling with her old partner, Vespa Ilkay, as well.”

“Yes.”

“And with one Juno Steel, who, up until now, was a Martian P.I. Tell me, thief, how does an ex-cop become a criminal?”

“In my experience, most cops are criminals,” Peter points out. “At least this one isn’t killing civilians.”

Agent G’s face twists into something angry and ugly. Before Peter can react, they reach forward and slap him across the face with enough force to knock Peter from his chair. He lands on all fours, his head spinning.

“Try again, thief,” they say. “Get up.”

Peter hoists himself up to his feet, still unsteady. He sits in the chair and takes a few breaths. His cheek aches.

“We worked together on a case,” says Peter. “The Mask of Grimpotheuthis. Surely you heard about it.”

“And how does that translate to Juno Steel joining a crime family, exactly?”

Peter shakes his head. “I don’t know. We were in brief contact for another case. My employer had an Ancient Martian super-weapon. We tried to disarm it. She died. We parted ways. I didn’t see him again until he had joined Buddy’s crew.”

“I find that difficult to believe,” says Agent G.

“It’s true,” Peter says. “I swear it. I don’t know what happened in that year. I don’t know why he decided to leave Mars.”

It’s only partially true. Juno has told him bits and pieces of the THEIA story. Peter is suddenly very grateful that he doesn’t know more.

“And your relationship with him now is…?”

“Professional,” Peter says. “We’re partners in crime, and in crime alone.”

Agent G shakes their head. “Try again, thief.”

“I don’t understand,” says Peter, struggling to keep his heart rate low and his expression casual. “I have worked with Juno on several missions. We work well together.”

“And this?” Agent G asks.

An image appears on the wall behind them. It’s a picture of Juno and Peter on Jupiter. They are holding hands as they run from Dark Matters, with Vespa a few steps ahead of them.

“We didn’t want to lose each other,” Peter says, “and Vespa doesn’t like to be touched.”

“How about this?” Agent G asks.

The picture disappears, replaced by an image of Peter and Juno at Zolatovna’s ball. They are dancing together, surrounded by other swirling bodies, but they have eyes only for each other. Juno looks focused and bright. Peter is staring at Juno in awe, with love so clear in his eyes it’s almost undeniable.

“A character,” says Peter. “We were posing as a married couple. I do thank you for the compliments, though; it’s nice to know the act was convincing.”

“Gotcha. So then, this is just a working relationship?”

Another image appears, this one a picture of Juno and Peter at a restaurant together. It’s a picture from the day before Peter broke his leg. They’re both laughing, and under the table, Juno’s foot is hooked around Peter’s ankle. 

Peter’s throat goes dry. “Yes,” he says quietly. “Professional.”

Agent G glances at the picture. “Do you see why I don’t trust you?” they ask.

“I suppose so,” Peter mutters. Juno’s eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs. Peter wants to scream.

“You love him,” says Agent G.

For once, Peter does not have an answer.

  


* * *

  


_Peter and Sam’s first kiss happened two months, six days, and nine hours after they first met._

_Sam spent every day helping in the shop. He explained to Peter that he had asked Frank to retire years ago. Frank had refused to hire anyone outside of the family to run the store, and his daughter, Lily, had been killed in the war. His spouse, distraught, had left for the Solar planets, never to be seen again. Lily’s death had torn their whole family apart, and it had only been the first of many; out of Sam’s eighteen cousins, only seven were still alive, and two of those were under 15 and too young for combat._

_“It’s fucking unfair, is what it is,” Sam had said when discussing the war. “The Solar System isn’t the center of the damn universe. There’s no reason they should get to rule the Outer Rim. They have no idea what life is like out here. And they come over here and kill us by the thousands just to prove a point.”_

_Peter had frowned. “Why would you volunteer, then, if you knew you’d almost certainly be killed?”_

_Sam had glanced at him. “Because it’s right,” he’d said. “Because when you’re oppressed, you have to fight back. Otherwise, what’s the damn point?”_

_That conversation had replayed on a loop in Peter’s mind for months. Now, restocking the back shelf while subtly staring at Sam’s strong arms as they lifted a heavy crate of canned goods, Peter thought of it again. In that moment, Sam had reminded him of Mag. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about that._

_“Hey, Wes?” Sam called._

_Peter startled. Sam was looking back at him, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Peter blushed, embarrassed to have been caught staring._

_“Yes?”_

_Sam smiled and jerked his head back towards the remaining crates. “C’mere. It’ll be easier to unload with two people.”_

_Peter placed the last couple boxes on the shelf and made his way over to Sam. As he passed, he inhaled as inconspicuously as he could. Sam always smelled of peppermint, and it was quickly becoming Peter’s favorite smell in the world._

_“Here,” said Sam, his voice low. “Help me grab this.”_

_Peter hooked his arms around the next crate and lifted. It was barely worth the effort; Sam had lifted it easily._

_“Why did you even ask me for help?” Peter grumbled as they made their way to the shelf._

_“Because,” Sam grunted. He dropped the crate onto a shelf and paused, wiping the sweat off his brow. Then, so quickly Peter could have almost missed it, he leaned forward and kissed Peter on the cheek._

_Peter froze. “I— Uh—”_

_Sam’s casual expression fell. “Oh, my gods,” he said. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I did that. I thought you wanted me to, but I should have asked, or—”_

_“No, no, it’s fine, really—”_

_“—’cause that’s a total dick move, surprising you like that, and—”_

_“—it’s no trouble, I’m all right—”_

_“—and I hope that doesn’t make things weird between us, because—”_

_“Sam,” said Peter. Sam closed his mouth, and Peter kissed him._

_Sam brought one hand up to cradle Peter’s cheek. It was warm and sturdy. Peter thought he could have died in that moment and been perfectly at peace._

_After a moment, Sam pulled back. “Oh,” he said, his blue eyes fluttering open._

_“Oh,” said Peter._

_They stood there, frozen in their own little bubble of time, until Sam let out a quiet, wondrous laugh. “Sorry,” he said. “I just… I’ve wanted to do that ever since I met you.”_

_“As have I,” said Peter. He brought one hand up and rested his fingers against his lips. They tingled wonderfully._

_“Can I take you out?” Sam asked. “Anywhere you like. Uncle Frank says you never leave. I know a bunch of spots from when I was growing up. There’s an incredible Uranian place up the street that I think you’d like, or if you don’t like Uranian food, there’s a really great sandwich shop up the road, or—”_

_“I’d like that,” Peter said. “I’d like that a lot.”_

_“Good,” said Sam. “Good. Um, so, tonight? Or tomorrow? I’m always free, except when I’m working here.”_

_“So am I,” said Peter, letting out a chuckle._

_“Okay, cool,” said Sam. “So, tonight. Tonight?”_

_“Tonight,” Peter agreed._

_“Awesome. It’s a date,” said Sam._

_“That it is,” said Peter. He leaned forward and kissed Sam again, a quick peck on the lips that made his heart sing._

  


* * *

  


“So you get an invitation to work with the great Buddy Aurinko,” says Agent G, “along with her partner, Vespa Ilkay, her friend, the Unnatural Disaster, and another person. You invite Juno Steel along for the ride. You tell them about the job of a century—stealing the Gilded Globe of Reaches Far from Nova Zolatovna—and make your way to Zolatovna’s ball. After, you decide you aren’t finished. You go after the legendary weapon designer M’tendere, and you decide to kidnap them for the Key to their weapons. They die in the process. You then move onto the Blade. You evade Dark Matters bots. You break into a Dark Matters facility with those bots and steal the Book. Do you think we don’t know what you’re after?”

“Buddy doesn’t share her plans with the crew before she needs to,” Peter says. “She’s the mastermind, not me. I don’t know what her plans are. I only went along to steal the Map, the Key, the Blade, and the Book from her, which I did.”

“To pay your debts,” Agent G says.

Peter freezes. “What?” he asks.

“Let’s talk about something else,” says Agent G. They step forward. “Why did you steal the Mask of Grimpotheuthis?”

“I don’t understand,” Peter says. 

Agent G leans back against the wall. “You must have known that infiltrating Dark Matters was as good as pinning the target to your back yourself. Must have been some job.”

Peter tries not to flinch at the memory of Miasma’s transformation, of blood running down Juno’s face, of a locked door at the end of the world. “It was.”

“Was the pay good?”

“It was all right. Certainly not enough to justify it, in the end.”

“But you met Juno Steel.”

Peter frowns. “Why are you so interested in him?”

“Don’t try to protect him, thief,” says Agent G. “You won’t be able to.”

“You know everything you need to know about him,” says Peter. “Your Agent Sasha Wire will have taken care of that.”

Agent G pauses. “Interesting, that,” they say. “See, there was a whole fifteen years where they didn’t talk. Then, you show up, and suddenly Juno Steel is an intergalactic criminal. See why Agent Wire might get a bit concerned?”

“I don’t, actually. My understanding is that this has been entirely in-character for him. Surely Agent Wire knows this.”

“That’s another thing, thief,” says Agent G. “You shouldn’t know her name.”

“Juno must have let it slip,” says Peter.

“You’ve been looking at Dark Matters for a very long time, haven’t you?” Agent G asks. “I wonder why that might be.”

“I haven’t,” says Peter.

“Don’t lie to me, thief. I know when you’re lying. You want to steal the Curemother Prime. You’ve been planning to steal it for the last fifteen years, and now you finally have the opportunity. Or, at least, you did, until you fucked it up by running away before the heist was done.”

“The Curemother Prime is a myth,” says Peter. “It isn’t real. Everyone knows that. If they don’t, they’re a fool.”

“You planned to steal it,” Agent G continues. “You were going to sell it to pay your debts. Isn’t that right?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” says Peter. “What debts?”

“Oh, Peter Nureyev,” says Agent G. Peter’s heart stops. “I told you to stop lying.”

  


* * *

  


_When Peter turned eighteen, he and Sam rented an apartment together. It was small, but they loved it anyway. They worked for Frank during the day, and at night, they whispered kind, gentle things to each other, secrets they’ve never told anyone else._

_“Why did you leave?” Peter asked._

_Sam sighed. “I didn’t choose to,” he said. “There was this planet, Majriti. A gas giant. They sent us down with masks and oxygen tanks, but there was no money to repair them. If you had a leak, you had to patch it yourself. I had a leak. After a few months, it became so hard to breathe that I fainted when I stood. I went to the doctor, and they found a massive tumor. They removed it right away and sent me home.”_

_“Were you afraid?” Peter asked._

_“No,” said Sam. “Just angry. I wanted to help more. I couldn’t.”_

_When Peter turned nineteen, he applied for a loan for bottom surgery. They turned him away, seeing as his credit history was nonexistent. Sam and Frank accompanied him to the loan office the next day and put down the store as collateral. When the loan was approved, Peter nearly cried._

_“I don’t know how I can ever repay you,” he said._

_Frank shrugged. “You’re family, kid,” he said. “That’s what family’s for.”_

_Peter had saved for two years for surgery. He saved for another six months. After his surgery, Sam cared for him until he was recovered. Together, and with Frank’s help, they paid the loan off by the time Peter turned twenty._

_The night they had paid off the loan, Peter turned to Sam. “My name isn’t Wesley,” he said._

_Sam turned to face him. His hair glowed almost silver in the pale light of Cesario’s twin moons._

_“I figured,” he said. “You never wanted to talk about your past. If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to.”_

_Peter swallowed. “It’s Peter Nureyev,” he said. “I was the Angel of Brahma.”_

_Sam nodded. “Thank you,” he said. He leaned forward and kissed Peter so softly that Peter nearly cried. “Thank you for trusting me. I love you.”_

_“I love you, too,” said Peter. He gripped Sam’s hand as tightly as he could. “You can still call me Wes. I’d prefer it, actually.”_

_Sam kissed his knuckles. “Wes it is,” he said._

_When Sam turned twenty-one, four months before Peter, he collapsed in the middle of carrying a crate of canned goods. Peter held him as Frank called for an ambulance. Sam was embarrassed more than anything, but when they reached the hospital, a doctor pulled Frank aside._

_“It’s lung cancer,” she said. “Stage IIIA. It’s T2b, which means…”_

_Peter tuned the doctor’s voice out to stare at Sam where he lay in a hospital bed. He looked small. It scared Peter enough to make his hands shake._

_When they arrived home, they set Sam up in Frank’s bed and spread out the hospital documents at Frank’s kitchen table. Peter and Frank spent the night poring over financial records and prognoses. By the time the sun rose the next day, one thing was clear: they would not be able to pay for Sam’s treatment._

_Frank buried his head in his hands. Peter stood and brewed a pot of coffee. As it bubbled, he ducked his head into Frank’s room._

_Sam was awake. He was staring at the ceiling, so motionless that, for a moment, Peter could have sworn he was dead._

_Then, Sam turned to look at him and smiled._

_“Hey, Wes,” he said._

_“Hello,” said Peter. He went to Sam’s side and kissed him on the forehead. When he drew back, Sam was shaking his head._

_“Don’t look at me like that,” Sam said. “I’m not dying that easy. I’m staying right here with you.”_

_“I know,” said Peter. “Gods, I know.”_

_Peter and Frank went down to the loan office and took out a loan, again using Frank’s shop as collateral. Frank emptied his savings. Peter bartered with the hospital and Frank’s menacing insurance company. When all was said and done, they were able to afford chemotherapy, though only barely._

_It wasn’t enough. Six months later, Sam’s cancer had metastasized. The doctor explained that the only remaining treatment was targeted nanobot surgery._

_“But that’s half a billion creds, even with insurance,” said Frank. “How the hell are we supposed to pay it?”_

_The loan office refused to send them anything else. Frank was already behind on payments. They moved to another office, and another, until finally they were pleading their case to Cesario’s largest medical debtor, a Brahmese man by the name of Alexander Yahontov. His company, then named the Board of New Beginnings (though its name would change after the war, and eventually its reach would extend into the Solar System, one of its many branches even snaking its way down to the Cerberus Province of Mars), refused Frank outright._

_“I’m sorry, Mr. Elwood,” said Yahontov. “Your store simply isn’t worth enough.”_

_Frank left the meeting despondent. Peter stayed, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself._

_“Mr. Yahontov,” he said, in his closest impression of Mag’s cunning voice, “I’d like to make a deal with you. First, though, allow me to introduce myself. I believe you may have heard of me.”_

  


* * *

  


Peter feels the blood leave his face all at once. It’s disconcerting, to say the least. “What?”

Agent G’s grin reminds Peter of Vespa’s—all teeth, and every one of them sharp. “We had a little chat with a friend of yours. He said his name was Alexander Yahontov. I’m guessing you remember him.”

Peter swallows. “If you’ve spoken to him, then…”

Agent G nods. “We know, Nureyev. We know everything. That’s quite a lot of debt you racked up, eh? Nearly a billion creds.”

“The original loan was half a million,” Peter says. 

“And you used your name as collateral. That’s an interesting idea. How high was your reward, then?”

“Nearly as much as the loan,” Peter says.

“And if you failed to pay him back, he’d turn you in.”

“It seems he did that anyway,” Peter says.

Agent G smirks. “We may have applied some pressure.”

“So you’ve got my name. What do you plan to do with it?”

“Oh, not much,” says Agent G. “You’re only wanted across six planetary systems by about forty different names.”

“So you plan to turn me in?”

Agent G shrugs. “Eventually, yes. Brahma’s offering a lot for your capture.”

“So that’s where you make your money?”

“Every agency needs its funding sources. Planetary governments hate giving to intergalactic organizations. Too much red tape.”

Peter sighs. “And until then?”

“Oh, I’m sure we can think of something.”

To his credit, Peter’s hands barely shake when he runs them through his hair. “I see,” he says. “I take it this is going to be unpleasant.”

“Oh, Peter,” says Agent G, “you have no idea.”

  


* * *

  


_Frank’s shop didn’t bring in nearly enough money for the monthly payments to the Board, and his savings were already drained. He stopped paying Peter, and Peter and Sam gave up their apartment to move in with Frank. Peter took odd jobs when he could, though he still had no papers and pay was low. Within two months, Frank was facing eviction._

_Sam grew sicker. The date for his nanobot surgery drew nearer. At any point, the Board could withdraw funding. After the first missed payment, they delayed the surgery by a month. After the second, they delayed it by six._

_Peter took a three day trip to nearby Capulet, and then to Desdemona to fence several thousand dollars worth of jewelry to one of Mag’s old contacts. She clapped him on the back and said it was good to see him again. Peter did not smile._

_The date of the surgery grew closer, and Sam grew sicker. Peter spent hours by his bedside, stroking his hair and kissing him gently. They spoke in whispers. Sam coughed more than he breathed._

_Peter left for a week. He came back with another couple thousand dollars. They made the next payment. Frank kept the lights on for another month._

_The authorities grew suspicious. Peter had to go further for each job. Each time he returned, Sam was sicker. Each time they missed a payment, the surgery was delayed._

_The last time Peter saw Sam was six days before his surgery. He kissed Sam goodbye and told him he’d be back soon. Sam, delirious, answered as though Peter was his mother. Peter held his hand for a moment and slipped away._

_Peter robbed the largest bank in the Outer Rim. Sam had his surgery. Peter called him once. He sounded weaker than he ever had. Frank begged Peter to come home, and Peter promised he would._

_“Just one more job,” he said. “Just for this next payment. I promise I’ll be back.”_

_Peter stole millions from a Jovian heiress. Peter stole a shipment of luxury drugs from a gang in the Arcturus Nebula and sold it back to them at double the price. Peter stole ancient jems and jewels from Earth. Peter stole priceless art and fenced it to uncaring collectors. Peter stole, and Peter paid, and Peter never went home._

_Sam died within the year. Yahontov demanded more. Peter planned another heist, invented another alias, made another contact, and the money moved into Yahontov’s pockets, and Peter never saw Frank again, and Peter was alone, and Peter was in debt, and Peter was in danger, over and over and over until--_

_Well. Until Juno Steel, but that was another story._

  


* * *

  


“There’s no reason to keep me here,” says Peter. “Not unless you need something from me.”

“Clever,” says Agent G.

“Why don’t you ask? I don’t see how I could possibly refuse.”

“You don’t need to do anything,” says Agent G. “Just sit tight. They’ll be here soon.”

Peter actually laughs at that. “Really?” he asks, his voice tight with scorn and grief. “You think they’ll come after me, after all I’ve done?”

“Yes,” says Agent G.

“You don’t understand criminals, do you?” Peter asks.

Agent G smiles. Another image appears on the wall: Juno and Peter in a hotel room, wrapped in blankets. Juno’s eye is newly bandaged. They are touching each other with all the fear and reverence in the world.

“I like to think that I do,” says Agent G. “Because criminals are just people, and people make mistakes.”

Peter stares at the image in horror. It’s clearly from the hotel’s security cameras, though he thought he’d taken care to wipe them all out as soon as they’d arrived. Clearly, he’d been more exhausted than he realized after the dilemma with Miasma.

“Professional?” Agent G asks. “Well, in my professional opinion, we won’t be waiting for them for long, hmm?”

They let the image burn itself into Peter’s retinas for another long minute. Then, seemingly satisfied, they tuck their papers back into their file and slide it back into that slot in the wall. 

“Goodbye, Peter Nureyev,” they say. “You won’t see your friends again. I, however, will see you very soon.”

Then the wall slides open behind them, and they’re gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Peter is beaten by Agent G while in their custody. Peter's past partner is diagnosed with and dies of lung cancer. Peter and his adoptive family struggle financially, specifically with medical debt.
> 
> A note on medical transition in the junoverse: Hey! So, you may be wondering: Maggie, why would future space, where transphobia is gone, still charge people for transition surgeries like Peter's bottom surgery? The answer, dear reader, is that we have seen that the medical industry is still booming in Juno's time. You may not like my headcanon about the cost of trans healthcare in the future, and that's fine! Your focus may be on the "trans" part of trans healthcare, while mine is on the "healthcare" part, largely because I am chronically ill and have more experience with medical finance than with medical transition. Just know that, while I imagine this type of surgery is much less expensive and much faster to get done in the junoverse than in our current time, I still imagine bottom surgery is expensive enough that Peter would have to take out a (manageable) loan to acquire it. If this puts you off or squicks you out, you can stop reading at "When Peter turned nineteen" and restart at "The night they had paid off the loan."
> 
> If you enjoyed this chapter, please consider leaving a comment and kudos!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Long time no see!
> 
> How about those Buddy eps, huh? Since my timeline here has been made thoroughly non-canon, I'm not using most of the material from those episodes (aside from VERY vague references) so you should be good on spoilers. If you want to be extra-cautious, you can go ahead to listen to those episodes first.
> 
> Big thanks to [Pholo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pholo/pseuds/Pholo/works?fandom_id=11552962) on ao3, [jitterbug-juno](https://jitterbug-juno.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for beta-ing this chapter and saying nice things about it that I got to read in the middle of a long drive. I appreciate you SO MUCH.
> 
> As always, warnings are in the end notes.

Rita spends about ten minutes hacking into Dark Matters’ security systems in the car while the others change. They take off as soon as she has Peter’s location, with Juno sandwiched between her and Buddy in the backseat. When Juno points out that Rita’s technically the smallest and should probably be in the middle, Vespa pulls a knife on him. He keeps his mouth shut for the rest of the ride.

They arrive at a nameless moon in the Shakespeare system within a few hours. Rita pulls up a set of blueprints on her comms, and Buddy goes over the plan with them about a thousand times: Jet and Rita will stay in the car, with Rita keeping an eye out over the security cameras. Buddy, Vespa, and Juno, already dressed like Dark Matters agents, will break in using forged papers that the Ruby prints off along the way. They’ll find Peter’s cell, open the door, and pretend to transfer him to another department. As soon as they’re in the clear, they’ll bolt, and no one will be the wiser.

“And then he goes in the brig,” Vespa grumbles.

“We do not have a brig,” Jet points out.

“We drag him along behind us, then,” says Vespa.

“That would kill him,” Jet points out.

Vespa opens her mouth, likely to point out the many benefits of that plan, and Buddy shakes her head. “Enough,” she says. “Vespa, you’ll go off on your own and grab the Map, the Key, the Blade, and the Book.”

“How do you ‘grab’ a song?” Juno asks.

Buddy rolls her eyes. “I mean the recording we made, darling. Don’t be pedantic. We’ll all rendezvous,” she says, pointing at Rita’s screen, “here. With any luck, we’ll be in and out within twenty minutes.”

“Knowing our luck, we won’t be ‘out’ at all,” Juno grumbles.

Rita shoots him a pointed look. “No season one talk, Boss. We talked about this. You’re at season three at least in terms of character development. Maybe even four.”

“Rita, this isn’t a stream.”

“Boss, if you snap at me one more time, I am gonna spoil _American Horror Story: England_ for you!”

“That is the scariest season,” Jet says. “We can only be grateful that its setting is fictional.”

Juno closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and counts to five. “Okay,” he says. “Okay. I’m sorry, Rita.”

Rita smiles. “Thanks for apologizin’, Boss. I know you’re stressed out. We’re almost there.”

Juno spends the rest of the ride going over the plan in his head and not looking at Vespa or Jet. He chews his thumbnail down to the skin, his hands trembling, and keeps breathing. 

They arrive. Buddy, Juno, and Vespa clamber out of the car. Rita gives Juno a thumbs-up, which Juno cautiously returns.

“We’ll meet you soon,” says Buddy to Vespa. Vespa stands on tiptoe to let Buddy kiss her on the cheek, then dashes into the building without so much as glancing at Juno. After a moment, Juno and Buddy begin to make their way toward the base.

It’s an unassuming building—at least, it would be if it weren’t the only building on this isolated hunk of rock. It’s made of light concrete, and the whole thing is a weird, ugly square shape. Juno hates it the second he sees it on both personal and architectural grounds. 

Buddy swipes them into a side door using a forged ID card. The first swipe doesn’t go through, and Juno holds his breath, waiting for a thousand Dark Matters agents to descend on them at once. Buddy frowns and swipes it through again, and this time the door slides open, revealing a starkly-lit hallway. Buddy nods, and Juno steps inside.

The building is far too cold for Juno’s taste, even with a heavy Dark Matters jacket. He shivers as the door behind him closes. He warms a bit when Buddy nudges him forward. They walk side-by-side. Buddy keeps her arm pressed against Juno’s the whole way. Juno tries not to let the relief show on his face.

Every once in a while, Rita’s voice crackles over their comms, directing them down labyrinthine hallways. Each one is as sterile as the last. Juno doesn’t trust the empty halls, even if the lack of Dark Matters agents makes it a quick journey. 

“This is a trap,” Juno mutters after the fifteenth empty hallway.

“I know,” Buddy mumbles. “Stay alert.”

“You’re almost there,” Rita assures them. “Just two more hallways.”

At the next turn, they finally run out of luck. Rita calls for them to stop, saying that there are two Dark Matters agents waiting for them, guns raised. She sends them the camera feed, and Juno pores over it, searching desperately for any flaws in their formation. Rather than traditional Dark Matters suits, the agents wear something that looks much closer to riot gear, laser-proof fabrics and all. They’re both outfitted with comms units and enough backup weaponry to take out a mob.

“Can you disable their gear?” Buddy asks Rita.

Over the comms, Juno can hear the faint taps of Rita’s rapid typing. “I can take out their comms,” she says, “but they’ve got analog gear. The blasters are shielded, and the fabric has iron magnets sewn into it, not electromagnets. I could try to distract them, but I ain’t got a lotta options—their visors are real old-fashioned, and all I can do is turn the lights on and off in the hall.”

“So we’re fighting them,” Juno says. “They know to expect us. They’ll know we aren’t Dark Matters.”

Buddy nods. “I do believe it’s our only option.”

“Well, shit. Rita, are there any more between them and Ransom’s cell?”

“Nope! They left it wide open. The door ain’t even guarded.”

“So why even leave a guard by the hall?” Juno wondered.

“That’s probably the ambush,” said Buddy. “They’ll come out when we’re fighting these two.”

“So we don’t want to fight them.”

“Correct.”

“But we definitely can’t sneak past them.”

“Also correct.”

“Great.”

Juno pulls his gun from its holster and sets it to stun. Buddy does the same. 

“You’re ready for this, Juno,” she says.

Juno nods, his hand steadied by hundreds of hours of practice. His movements mirror Buddy’s perfectly. When they fire, they fire together, just like they have a thousand times before.

The guards don’t fall, but they do stumble. Juno and Buddy rush forward, and, bolstered by the thrumming knowledge that Nureyev is somewhere nearby, Juno collides with one of the guards.

Taking him down is easy. He hooks one arm around the guard’s neck as they fall, pulling until the guard stops struggling. Beside him, Buddy rips the other guard’s helmet off and pistol-whips her over the head. She falls to the ground with a heavy thud. Buddy stuns that guard for good measure, then removes the other one’s helmet and does the same. Juno nods—they won’t be getting up for a while.

As Buddy straightens, footsteps begin echoing down the hall. Juno and Buddy stand back-to-back, guns at the ready. 

_We’re coming,_ Juno thinks. _Just hold on._

A dozen guards round the corner on Juno’s side, and he assumes the same is happening behind him. Within seconds, laser fire fills the hall, filling Juno’s nose with the scent of ozone and singed fabric. Juno fires three times, and then the guards are upon them and everything is hell.

Juno takes one down with a sharp punch to the kidneys and spins, bringing his foot up to kick another in the side. Beside him, Buddy whirls, her red hair flying around her face. They fight with everything in them, tearing through Dark Matters agents with a speed that should be impossible. It still isn’t enough.

One of the guards is nearly a foot taller than Juno. They grab his foot as he kicks, yanking him off balance. Juno falls with a curse, landing on top of an unconscious guard. He scrambles to his feet just in time to take a particularly brutal elbow to the face. He falls again, cheek throbbing, and feels a tooth coming loose. He spits it out and tries to stand again, but the guard kicks him in the stomach, knocking the breath out of him entirely.

Juno’s vision goes black. The guard kicks again, harder. Somewhere behind Juno, Buddy is shouting. Juno’s vision clears just in time to see the guard rearing back for another kick. He curls in on himself, knowing it will do nothing to protect his stomach.

And then, out of nowhere, a flash of green, and the guard is on the ground.

Vespa turns, clutching a knife that’s dripping with bright red blood. She reaches a hand down, and Juno takes it, lets her pull him up until he’s standing.

“C’mon, Steel,” she grunts. “We’ve almost got your boy. Don’t give up just yet.”

Juno nods, sucking in painful breaths, one after another. When another guard rushes them, Vespa stabs him in the neck, quick as lightning. He goes down silently.

Juno rallies. He pulls a guard off Buddy and rips their helmet off, then sends a stun into the back of their skull. When they fall, he grabs another. He aches, but Vespa’s right—they’re so close to Nureyev, and that’s all that matters.

When the final guard falls, Vespa grins a bloodthirsty grin, and Buddy rests a hand on Juno’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Vespa,” she says. “Juno, are you all right?”

Juno nods. “Peachy,” he wheezes. “Where are we heading?”

Rita’s voice crackles in his ear. “It’s that door next to you, Boss,” she says. “You sure you’re okay?”

Juno nods again. “Not missing anything vital,” he says. “And I would know.”

“That ain’t what I meant,” Rita mutters.

Juno turns to face the dark metal door beside him. It doesn’t appear to have a handle, but there’s a small slot next to it for his ID card. Juno pulls a card off of one of the limp guards littering the ground and brings it up to the slot.

He freezes.

_Nureyev’s in there,_ he thinks. _Open the door, Juno._

Another voice, one he still hears sometimes in his dreams, screams, “Open this door, open it now!” Juno shakes it off.

_He could be hurt,_ Juno thinks.

A kiss in the middle of the night. A declaration of love. An abandonment.

“ _You idiot. Juno, you idiot._ ”

“We need to move,” Vespa grumbles. “There could be more coming.”

“Juno?” Buddy asks.

Juno opens the door.

The room is empty.

Juno frowns. He opens his mouth to speak, to let the others know that something is wrong, and then there are arms around his chest and a knife at his throat.

“Ransom!” Buddy cries. Juno tenses, ready to fight, before the familiar scent of Peter Nureyev—not his cologne, but his sweat, his skin, the way he smells when he wakes up in the morning—fills his nose, letting him really relax for the first time in days.

“Hey,” he says, and the grip on him slackens.

Nureyev looks exhausted. That’s the first thing Juno notices when he turns—he has dark circles under his eyes, like he hasn’t slept since he left, and his left cheek is swollen, blooming with a deep red-purple bruise. Juno brings his hand up to touch it, and Nureyev flinches. He doesn’t seem to be able to meet Juno’s eye.

“You all right?” Juno asks, unable to do anything but stare.

Nureyev nods. He glances at Buddy and Vespa like a caged animal. “Are we leaving?”

Buddy nods. “We’ll need to hurry. Can you fight?”

Nureyev rolls his shoulders, stretching each impossibly-long limb with a wince. “Yes,” he says, “though they took my knives. I don’t suppose you’d let me borrow one, Vespa?”

“Fat chance,” Vespa growls.

Juno opens his mouth to offer Nureyev a weapon, then pauses. He glances at Buddy. Buddy shakes her head.

“Just stick by me,” he says instead. “You look exhausted.”

Nureyev hasn’t missed their silent conversation, but he doesn’t say anything either. When Vespa turns to lead them out, he maintains his position at Juno’s side, albeit a bit farther than Juno feels comfortable with—he never wanders close enough to touch, or even for their clothes to brush against each other.

Juno feels that absence like a wound.

They step carefully over the bodies on the ground and make their way back towards the exit. At each turn, Rita gives them directions or warns of passing guards. Aside from her, no one says a word, including Nureyev.

Juno, who has been panicking since Nureyev left, downgrades the emotion to a “worry.” It doesn’t help very much.

When they’re nearly out, Rita’s voice crackles over their comms once more.

“They found the bodies,” she says. “You gotta get outta there—they’re sending another squad your way.”

“Shit,” Juno mutters. He glances at Nureyev, at his drawn, exhausted face, and at Buddy, who’s clutching at her chest where one of the guards must have grabbed her. Juno’s own chest aches, as does most of his torso—he doesn’t have the strength to fight again, and he knows it.

Vespa’s grip tightens around her knife as footsteps begin to echo down the hall once more. “We’re gonna make it out,” she says. “And if not, I’m gutting the thief.”

“You may have to leave me behind,” Nureyev says, his voice weak. “I can hold them off, distract them long enough for you to escape—”

“Nope,” says Juno as the footsteps grow louder. “No, just give me a second. I’m not leaving you here.”

“Juno, this is all my fault. None of you should have been injured for my sake. You don’t need to be _arrested_ —”

“Pete,” says Buddy, “we aren’t leaving you behind. That’s the end of the discussion. Now,” she says, holding her gun close, “we’re going to make it out of this, because if we don’t, Jet and Rita will be very disappointed, and _that_ is unacceptable. Do you understand?”

Everyone nods.

“Good,” says Buddy. The footsteps grow louder still. They all stand back-to-back, ready to face their foes. Juno leans against Nureyev, indulging in his warmth one last time.

_I’m getting him out,_ he thinks. Breathes in, out. _We’re going to get out._

Boots round the corner.

A gunshot echoes.

There is a woman standing in front of them with a dead guard at her feet. Juno recognizes her within a millisecond, but he doesn’t have time to be surprised.

“C’mon,” Sasha shouts. “This way!”

She presses her hand against the wall, where a hidden door slides open. Vespa springs into action, pulling Buddy along behind her. Juno follows, bewildered, and hooks a hand around Nureyev’s forearm to keep him close. Sasha glances back at them, her dark hair whipping around her chin.

“Follow the passage and you’ll end up outside,” she says. “I’ll hold them off.”

“Sasha—” Juno starts, but Sasha shakes her head.

“It’s nice to see you, Juno,” she says. “Now, go!”

The wall slides closed, and the muffled sound of gunfire fills the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter are violence and minor character death.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH SHIT
> 
> Okay, so! This has finally been jossed! Which wouldn't have happened if I wrote things in a timely manner, but, y'know, I've been busy.
> 
> There aren't any specific spoilers for the new ep in this chapter, but I do reference it a liiiiiiittle, so keep that in mind. Also, spoilers for the new ep in the end notes, where I do a bit of premature bragging.
> 
> EDIT (11/25): For some reason, the date when the chapters were updated has been messed up. I think (???) I fixed it, but let me know if that causes any additional weirdness. I've had some weird glitches on this fic that I've never seen before, so idk how this will affect stuff.

Juno stumbles backwards, held up by Nureyev’s trembling hands.

“Come _on,_ ” Vespa whispers. Juno stares at the wall in horror.

It’s Nureyev who finally nudges him on. “Let’s go, love,” he mutters. “She can fend for herself.”

Juno doesn’t have the energy to speak. He lets Nureyev guide him forward, numbed by the shock of potential loss, until they reach a wall that slides open at their approach. They step outside to see the bright green of the Ruby-7, glimmering in the light.

The car beeps excitedly when Nureyev opens the door. Her pitch is matched only by Rita’s excited squeal, which she lets out as she twists to give Juno a hug that is mostly obstructed by the car’s interior. Jet pilots them off the surface within thirty seconds, and soon they’re surrounded by stars.

The car goes quiet then. Nureyev is squished between Juno and Vespa, and Vespa’s glare is somehow more murderous than usual. Nureyev avoids their eyes, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on his hands, which are folded politely in his lap.

“So,” says Vespa. “What do we do with the thief?” Her knife, which hasn’t disappeared into her pocket since they retrieved Nureyev, glints as she turns it with thoughtful precision.

“We’ll deal with him when we get back to the ship,” Buddy says. “For now, darling, I think we should _all_ take the time to rest.”

“Not a chance,” Vespa growls. “I’m not letting him get away. Not again.”

For the first time since they got him out of that cell, Nureyev looks at Junorea—lly looks at him, his dark eyes scared and resigned. He looks exhausted. Juno aches to put his arms around Nureyev’s shoulders, to hold him close and safe, to keep the world away. 

He shoves his hands into his coat pockets.

“We lock him up,” he says. Nureyev doesn’t blink. “I’ll keep watch.”

Vespa snorts. “Sure. Like I’d trust you not to break him out.”

“He didn’t help me,” Nureyev snaps, turning to face her. “He didn’t know.”

“He’s a detective,” Vespa snarls. “You really think he didn’t know?”

Nureyev turns back to Juno, and now—shit, he’s terrified. Nureyev’s good at locking his feelings away behind the galaxy’s best poker face, but Juno’s good at reading people, and he’s spent a year learning Nureyev’s every microexpression. And that’s not all—Juno knows this expression intimately, because he’s made it about a hundred times: _He’s going to hurt me, and then he’s going to leave._

The worst part is that Vespa isn’t wrong, not really. He’s questioned this thing a thousand times over the past year. Hasn’t this been too easy? After everything he’s done, everyone he’s hurt, doesn’t Juno deserve to be let down one last time? He spent weeks with a gun under his pillow, spent _months_ flinching from every sudden movement, just waiting for the millionth shoe to drop, for the universe to prove itself, once again, to be cruel and uncaring and _exactly what he deserves,_ and here it is: Peter Nureyev was too good to be true.

Except.

Except that isn’t true. Nureyev loves him. He trusts that. Nureyev doesn’t want to hurt him. He trusts that, too. And, more than that, Nureyev doesn’t want to hurt the others. He cares about them, even if he won’t admit it. When he’s drunk, he waltzes with Buddy, twirling her around their little family room with easy grace. He and Vespa spent weeks playing a game of Rangian poker, restarting every night, trading tiny, hard-won secrets, sharp and precious. He follows Jet around like a puppy, more so than even Rita. And Rita—well, they’re best friends, fans of all the same cheesy romance streams, and Nureyev taught Rita how to act for a heist, and in return, she taught him how to knit, and now they’ll sit beside each other on the couch and giggle like kids, and it makes Juno’s heart swell with so much joy and love and—

Peter Nureyev loves them, and now he’s looking at Juno with tears in his eyes, vulnerable in a way Juno hasn’t seen since they were trapped in that awful tomb, and Juno can’t stand it.

“I didn’t,” he says. It comes out softer than he meant it to. Vespa scoffs, but Juno doesn’t look. He’s too busy staring at the love of his life.

“I’m so sorry,” Nureyev says.

“I know,” says Juno.

The rest of the ride is silent. Nureyev drops his gaze to the Ruby’s floor, and Juno doesn’t try to bring it back. He doesn’t stop looking at Nureyev, though; seeing Nureyev again is a relief, like air returning to his lungs, and he isn’t about to take it for granted. 

When they arrive back at the ship, Vespa draws a knife. Juno glares at her, but she shakes her head.

“Cut the cheesy crap, Steel. We’re locking him up. Don’t argue with me.”

“I’m not,” Juno says. Nureyev flinches. Juno takes a deep breath, does his best to soften his voice. “I’m not arguing. I just want to talk to him first. That okay, Ransom?”

Nureyev glances back up, wary, and nods. 

“You don’t have to say yes.”

Nureyev takes a deep breath. “I know,” he mutters. “I’m saying it anyway.”

“Okay,” says Juno. He turns to Buddy. “Can we get, like, _any_ privacy?”

Buddy steeples her fingers under her chin. “You can stay in my room for a little while. Vespa and I will clean out Pete’s room.” She gives Nureyev a sharp look. “If there’s anything you don’t want us to see, darling, you’ll want to tell us now. I won’t appreciate any more secrets from you.”

“There’s nothing,” Nureyev croaks. “Dark Matters took— There’s nothing in there.”

“Okay,” says Buddy. “In that case, Vespa and I will clean Pete’s room. Jet will guard the door. Rita, would you be so kind as to sweep Juno’s room for anything incriminating?” She looks at Juno. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, darling, but he spends an awful lot of time in there, and I’d hate to miss something important.”

“Go ahead,” says Juno. “If you find anything, let me know.”

“We will,” says Buddy. 

Vespa storms off down the hall. Rita pauses to squeeze Juno’s hand and mutter a quiet, “You’ll be all right, Boss,” before making her way towards his room. When Buddy glances at him, Jet gestures for Peter to head to Buddy’s room. Juno turns to follow them, but Buddy grabs his arm.

“Are you sure you want to be alone with him?” she asks.

Juno pauses. He isn’t quite sure how to explain it, the desperate need to understand _why,_ the shock of betrayal mixed with a solid day of worrying and fear, so he just shakes his head. “I have some questions,” he says, and Buddy nods.

“We’re here if you need us,” she says. “Even Vespa. She cares very much about you, though I doubt she’d admit to it.”

“I know,” says Juno, flashing a smile. “I’m gonna go talk to him but… Thanks, I guess, for believing me. For going after him.”

“Of course, darling,” says Buddy. “You’re family, and so is he.”

She squeezes his shoulder one last time, sharp nails pressing into his skin in a way that ends up more comforting than uncomfortable. Juno takes a moment to drink in her steadiness, her confidence, her poise, and then watches her go. 

Right. Nureyev, then.

He’s pacing along the left wall of Buddy and Vespa’s bedroom when Juno enters, waved inside by a silent and stoic Jet. Juno lets the door slide shut behind him with a hiss, his heart dropping when Nureyev flinches at the sound.

“We should probably talk,” Juno says, his voice soft.

Nureyev nods, eyes pinned to the floor. His eyes shine. Juno’s heart hammers against his ribcage.

“First, though,” he says, “I… Can I hug you?”

Nureyev’s head shoots up. “I… You want to…”

“I thought you were dead,” Juno whispers, his voice breaking on the last word. “I’m not gonna say I’m not mad, or that we don’t have to talk about this, because we do. And I’m not gonna say that I still trust you, because I honestly don’t know how to feel about this at all, but I want you to know that I love you, that I care about you, and that right now, I’m just really, really glad you’re safe. And I’d like to hug you, if that’s y’know, something you’d like. You don’t have to, obviously, just…”

Nureyev just stares, his eyes wide and dark. Silhouetted against Buddy’s window, surrounded by stars, Juno is reminded of that night, so long ago, when he walked into his apartment to find Peter Nureyev waiting for him. He remembers, as though it was yesterday, the way that cologne smelled when it mixed with the general stink of whiskey and dust in his apartment. He wishes he could smell that cologne now.

“Nureyev?” Juno mutters.

Nureyev shakes, then lets out a horrible, choked noise, and suddenly Juno is beside him, hands hovering because he isn’t sure if he has permission to touch, and there are tears dripping down Nureyev’s cheeks, and it’s _awful._

“Can I?” Juno asks, opening his arms, and Nureyev falls into him, all the tension in him releasing at once. Juno stands on tiptoe to wrap his arms across Nureyev’s shoulders, and then they both sink to their knees, scratching against the ship’s rough carpet. Juno hooks a hand around Nureyev’s bony shoulder and just holds him as he cries, face buried in the crook of Juno’s neck.

“I’m so sorry,” Nureyev gasps. “You must know— I have to tell you— Juno, I swear, I didn’t want to leave.”

“Okay,” says Juno, keeping his voice as low and steady as he can, even as tears begin to spill down his cheeks. “I believe you. I wish you’d talked to me, Nureyev. I wish you would’ve let us help.”

Through his tears, Nureyev begins to speak. Juno holds him as he explains, listening to a story of a long-dead partner, of the debts he took on, of the debtors who chased him across a galaxy, of life tied to those debtors by his name, of the knowledge that, even as they scrambled to acquire all four of the assets they would need to get the Curemother Prime, he was running out of time with Juno. Juno listens, and he thinks, and he cries more than he’d like to admit, and all the while, words spill out of Nureyev’s mouth and into the air around them, dropping like so many tears.

When he’s done, he pulls back from Juno’s arms and just stares, tears still dripping down his cheeks. Juno brushes them away as lightly as he can.

“Okay,” he says. He kisses Nureyev’s cheek. “Okay. That’s a lot to take in.”

“I understand if you can’t forgive me, Juno. I know I lied to you, and I know that was wrong.”

Juno lets out a deep breath. “I can’t forgive you right now, Nureyev,” he says. Nureyev’s face falls, and Juno shakes his head, pressing another kiss to his forehead. “I can’t forgive you right now, but just… Just give me time, okay? I still love you. I still care about you. I wish you’d come to me with this, or Buddy, or…”

“I know. I wish I had, as well, and not because I was captured by Dark Matters.”

Juno sighs. “They’ll be on our tail soon, right?”

“Most likely, yes.” Nureyev takes a deep breath. “I apologize for that, as well.”

“They were already following us. It was only a matter of time.”

Nureyev pauses. “So…”

“So we’ll talk to Buddy. We’ll work it out. It’ll be okay.”

“Will it?”

Juno lets out a light laugh. “I don’t know,” he says. “I have no idea. But we’ll figure it out.”

“And about us?”

Juno pauses. It aches, knowing that Nureyev betrayed them, but he doesn’t think he’ll do it again, not unless…

“You can’t just shut us out to protect us, babe. It’s not fair. We want to help you. We’re your family.”

Nureyev grimaces. “I know.” He pauses. “You’ve… grown rather a lot, since we first met.”

“I know,” says Juno. “Maybe it’s a bit hypocritical—”

“No,” says Nureyev. “No, you’re right. I was foolish, and it could have ended much, much worse than it did. I’m so sorry, love.”

Juno rests his cheek against Nureyev’s shoulder. Folded into each other like this, he feels safe for the first time since Nureyev walked out that morning.

“We’ll take it slow,” says Juno. “You’ll tell your story to the others, and they’ll all come to a decision about whether we can stay.”

“We?”

“You, me, and probably Rita, if I’m honest. I guess she could decide to leave us, but I’m not leaving her, and I think she’d choose to stay with us if you got kicked out.” At Nureyev’s slightly-increased breathing rate, Juno shakes his head, saying, “But I don’t think they’ll kick us out,” all in a rush.

“No, I… You’d come with me?”

Juno’s heart, for the hundredth time today, breaks. “Yeah, of course. I mean, don’t get me wrong, what you did was really, really shitty, and I’m gonna probably need some time to stop being terrified of waking up to an empty bed again—Which, yeah, I guess you’d understand, sorry about that again—And I don’t know how the others will react, but I’m gonna guess it involves locking you in your room for a while, and they still need me, but I—” He takes a deep breath. “I want to be with you. I love you. I’m all in, honey. This was bad, but it isn’t the end, okay?”

Nureyev just stares at him with those dark eyes, all disbelieving and desperate, and Juno just holds him, grateful to feel his heartbeat against his hand, his breath against his ear. They stay like that for a while, just breathing together, until finally, Juno disentangles them.

“Okay,” he says, pressing a kiss to Nureyev’s cheek. “Okay. Let me go talk to the others. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” says Nureyev.

He looks lonely there, sitting on the floor as Juno leaves, but Juno isn’t worried. He knows he won’t be lonely for long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE KABERT MAKE MY THEORY WHERE NUREYEV'S DEBTS BELONG TO AN EX COME TRUE. PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE
> 
> But for like, the first time ever, I am hopeful that one of my theories might actually be correct, and if it is, I'm going to be _such_ an asshole about it. That is all.


End file.
